The Sword Is About to Fall

Deng Qing thought to himself, The progress is encouraging, but my realm is still Mortal.

He did not know how far Tiger-Subduing Fist had to be trained before his realm would truly change.

As he was thinking, footsteps came from the direction of the front gate.

Deng Qing looked up and saw Li Liang approaching in dark clothes, a saber hanging at his waist, his expression none too pleasant.

Deng Qing hurriedly withdrew his stance and cupped his hands. "Senior Brother Li."

Li Liang frowned. "I only just learned that you brat are working here without pay.

"If you earn no wages, what will you use to pay the service fee? Brat, do you know what happens if you trick me?"

Deng Qing cupped his hands. "Rest assured, Senior Brother. If the time comes and I still cannot pay, you will not need to seize me. I will go perform service myself."

The service fee hung over Deng Qing's head like a blade. How could he not be anxious?

But he could tell what was most urgent.

His greatest priority now was restoring his body and grinding Tiger-Subduing Fist's progress. Everything else had to make way for that.

Even taking ten thousand steps back, if he truly could not scrape together the money in time and was forced into service, having mastered Tiger-Subduing Fist would give him far better odds of surviving.

Seeing how sincere Deng Qing was, Li Liang nodded. "It's good that you know what you're doing."

With that, he turned and left.

Watching Li Liang depart, the string in Deng Qing's heart tightened further and further.

He needed to find a way to pay the service fee, but he could not stop practicing Tiger-Subduing Fist either.

Yet after more than ten days of training, even with Tang Juan around, he knew that coarse-grain pancakes and cabbage soup alone could not support this frame of martial arts.

Medicinal wine and supplements were far beyond his reach. For now, the only thing he could think of was meat.

"I need to find a way to eat meat."

Deng Qing clenched his fist and suddenly remembered something.

Celebration Hall's back kitchen often slaughtered pigs to provide extra meals for registered disciples, and another fat pig had arrived today.

"If I can't get pork, can I get some pig offal?"

Deng Qing had been in this world for quite some time. He knew that in these times, wherever there was food, there would be people who wanted it.

But pig intestines and lungs carried too much of a foul odor, making them exceedingly cheap.

And precisely because they were cheap, Deng Qing felt there was a chance he could get his hands on them.

The moment the thought arose, Deng Qing hurried toward the rear courtyard. Before he even entered, he heard the sound of a blade being sharpened.

Clang, clang, clang.

In the patch of open ground behind the kitchen, Chef Zhao had already rolled up his sleeves, exposing two fat arms creased with folds of flesh. He stood beside a chopping block, sharpening his knife.

Wooden buckets and hemp ropes lay on the ground.

Chef Zhao spotted him, then grinned and cursed, "Just in time. Get over here and lend a hand."

Deng Qing quickly agreed. Half an hour later, a fat pig weighing more than two hundred catties had been sent to the next world.

Large slabs of meat still attached to gleaming white ribs were carried away on shoulder poles by two kitchen hands, straight into the inner courtyard.

The pig liver, stomach, and kidneys Deng Qing had been eyeing eagerly were divided among Chef Zhao and several stewards.

Before long, his gaze settled on the large and small intestines still smeared with filth, along with a set of pig lungs.

Heaven had pity on him; Chef Zhao casually tossed all three into a dirty wooden basin.

Pointing at the basin, Deng Qing asked Chef Zhao, "Uncle Zhao, are these not wanted?"

Chef Zhao was rinsing his hands with well water. He glanced back. "Wanted. They're good stuff even for feeding dogs."

Deng Qing secretly rejoiced. "Uncle Zhao, can I take some home?"

Chef Zhao froze for a moment. "This stuff reeks of blood and piss. Other than those poor enough to have nothing but a ringing echo in their pockets, hardly anyone eats it. What do you want it for?"

Deng Qing answered honestly, "There's no oil in my belly. No matter how bad this tastes, it's still better than vegetables."

Chef Zhao looked at him and sighed. "Pitiful. Take it if you want it."

Deng Qing hurriedly found an old wooden bucket and packed it up.

The two kitchen hands nearby both recoiled several steps in disgust.

After packing it all away, Deng Qing was about to leave when Chef Zhao called him back and stuffed a small cloth bundle into his hand. "It stinks badly. Add more salt to get rid of the smell."

"Thank you, Uncle Zhao."

"Get lost, get lost. It stinks me to death."

Deng Qing carried the wooden bucket out of Celebration Hall.

When he reached the corridor in the front courtyard, the big yellow dog suddenly stood up and barked twice at the bucket.

Deng Qing glared at it and cursed, "You're trying to snatch food from me, and you think you've got the right to complain?"

Big Yellow barked furiously.

In the blink of an eye, another fifteen days passed.

The wind rose that night, blowing through a gap in the courtyard wall and sending dry leaves whirling across the ground.

Deng Qing stood still in the courtyard, in no hurry to strike.

He first went through the nine forms in his mind—Crouching Body, Reaching Claw, Sinking Shoulder, Leaping Body, Scissoring Wrist, Twisting Spine. These were the six forms whose framework he had already mastered;

Tiger-Subduing Mountain Crusher, Hungry Tiger Locks the Throat, and Tiger-Tail Gatebreaker were the three new forms taught in class five days ago.

According to Fan Sheng, the first six forms were the frame, while the last three were the true art—the techniques for killing.

Once all nine forms were complete, one had the full Tiger-Subduing Fist.

Deng Qing drew a deep breath and assumed his stance.

First crouching, then lunging, his whole body rolled and twisted through the courtyard. At times he shot forward close to the ground, at times he twisted around and turned back, his feet sending dead leaves flying in every direction.

The ruined courtyard was not large. Its once uneven, pitted ground had been trampled flat and smooth by his many days of relentless practice.

One moment he darted forward beside the wooden post; the next he lowered himself and spun away. His shoulders and back sank and twisted, his arms reaching and scissoring. Occasionally, a palm struck the wooden post with a muffled smack.

Under the moonlight, his thin figure rose and fell, advanced and retreated, like a starving tiger sharpening its claws within a cage.

After finishing one set, he caught his breath and began again from the start.

The nine forms of Tiger-Subduing Fist shifted endlessly through his hands and feet. The more he practiced, the more familiar they became, and the heavier they grew.

By the third round, sweat had appeared on his forehead.

By the fifth, his chest was heaving violently.

Yet his footwork remained steady, and his stance did not fall apart.

Only after finishing the seventh round did he finally withdraw his stance, sweat pouring from his entire body as though he had just been washed.

Deng Qing raised his hand and looked at his palm. There was already a sense of strength in it.

Over these fifteen days, great amounts of pig offal had filled his stomach, finally building him into something resembling a martial artist.

He could not help thinking, Calories are the true king.

Even intestines and lungs carrying that rank, foul smell were vastly better than coarse-grain pancakes and cabbage soup.

Deng Qing slowly exhaled. With a thought, a clear radiance appeared.

[Heaven helps those who help themselves; no effort is ever wasted]

[Realm: Mortal]

[Tiger-Subduing Fist: 38% (Minor Mastery)]

Seeing the words "Minor Mastery" behind Tiger-Subduing Fist, satisfaction appeared in Deng Qing's eyes.

Just as Deng Qing was about to withdraw his thoughts, his gaze suddenly sharpened.

On the light screen, the word "Mortal" flickered gently.

Deng Qing's breathing stopped, and his heart gave a violent leap.

He knew he was about to break through.

When Tiger-Subduing Fist's progress had reached 19%, the word "Initiation" had flickered as well.

After eating two portions of pig offal and practicing all afternoon to stir up his blood and vitality, Tiger-Subduing Fist's progress had risen from 19% to 20%, and "Initiation" had become "Minor Mastery."

Now that "Mortal" had flickered again, Deng Qing caught the scent of a breakthrough.

Just then, someone suddenly knocked on the courtyard gate.

Deng Qing withdrew his thoughts and walked over. Through the wide crack in the gate, he saw Li Liang standing outside.

Deng Qing opened the gate, and Li Liang walked in.

He still wore those dark clothes with a saber at his waist, but there was more fatigue between his brows.

Deng Qing cupped his hands. "Senior Brother Li."

"Practicing your fist?"

"Yes."

Li Liang's gaze lingered on him, and inwardly he was startled. They had not seen each other for only half a month, yet this brat had changed considerably.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"I do. There are still five days."

"There aren't five days left."

Li Liang's low voice crashed down like a chunk of cold iron. "At most, three days. If the money does not arrive within three days, you must perform service."